Haylo
by WYSIWYG
Summary: My disturbed attempt at humor, read at your own risk. A parody of the Halo game.


Disclaimer: Halo is the sole property of Bungie Software. I love you guys, so don't sue me okay#? Now if this isn't funny, and there is a very good chance of that, just tell me and I shall delete this thing forever.

Haylo: Revisited **COLUMN OF WINTER: PART 1**

Deep in the lost reaches of inner space, the CNN ship the "Column of Winter" drove slowly but surely towards the strange hula-hoop found floating in orbit around the giant gas planet Greenmould. 

Onboard the bridge of the COW, Captain Jacque Strap, a veteran of four years of war, doing some vary brave stuff or something like that (though he is usually very vague if asked about it) against the Covet-ass, sworn enemies of Humans and good taste alike. The captain cracked his fingers, silently farted once, blamed it on the nearest crewman, brushed the dandruff off his shoulders, and adjusted his toupee. He farted again.

"What I want to know is…am I ga…I mean, did we lose them?"

"BUUUUUUUUURP, sorry captain, didn't mean to do that. Eh, no, err, wait, yes, I mean no."

"How could they…we made a blind jump, how did they get here before us?"

"I told you cap' shouldn't have stopped for gas, "_oh, we'll have plenty of time Marlene!_" should have a listened to me!" She moaned on and on like a demented parrot. The holopanel flickered, and the image of a big 400-pound woman wearing a pink muumuu and holding a big tub of chocolate ice cream, with most of the contents smeared around her mouth. She gave her backside a big scratch and belched again.

"We were running dark yes?"

"No."

"Oh?"

"Some idiot forgot to turn their bathroom light off didn't they?"

"So where do we stand?" said the captain, moving over to a console manned by an attractive 18 year old blond and groped her backside. He farted again. "And have you figured out how to bring my flatulence under control yet?"

"Well", said Marlene, between shoving giant helpings of ice cream into her seemingly endless gullet and scratching her starship sized behind. "The flatulence will have to wait, besides, it's your most attractive feature, read into that what you will. I'm detecting at least 18,000 Covet-ass poodle-walker and shit-shoveler class ships. (Try saying that when you're pished.) In other words cap, we screwed more than a virgin Thai girl in a Bangkok brothel."

"Well," said the captain, "lets prepare our friends a warm welcome." He farted again.

Down in the marines' dog kennels, the bad ass, kick ass, fuck ass men of the elite "pork chop" regiment readied to take on the Covet-ass when they boarded the COW. The men put on their battle armour, exchanged rather erotic last hugs together and gathered on the assembly deck. The Sarge, walking as if he had a dildo shoved up his ass (which may have been true if you believed the rumours, of which there were many.) walked down the ranks of the sissy boy marines and eyed up some fresh meat for later on that night.

"Right men, I don't want a repeat of the Outer Rim, Upper Uranus and Tolgar 3 incidents. Shooting off a single round and then running around like a bunch of pussy little schoolgirls may be good enough for the French, but not for us! Do you understand me marines?"

"Hey monsieur I est Francais, and I take ze greatest offince at your insulting of ma cultor ser-jaunt." The Frenchmen patted his Dali-esque moustache for effect. The Sarge pumped an entire clip into him.

"Am I right marines?"

"Yes sir." And they all walked off looking like they too had dildos shoved up their asses (a scenario that again could be quite plausible.). The Sarge kicked the dead frog a few times and buggered off to view his secret stash of shower room security tapes.

In the long-term freezer store, two techs busied themselves opening the only remaining cryogenic chamber (well, waist high freezer, budget cuts you know) and restoring the person inside. With a slow but steady and sure motion the figure gently rose up, towering above the awe-filled techs that just stood drooling like 13 year olds over Baywatch. 

"Welcome back Mister Chef" said the first tech. The newly awakened soldier admired his MOJO armour and neatly trimmed pure white chef's hat. He dropped out of the chamber and stretched out all his frozen limbs and other extremities. He looked at the tech expression as he jutted out his enormous codpiece, and smiled as they shied away in embarrassment. 

"Captain Dick-Holder, I mean, Strap, wants you on the bridge, chef." Said the tech. Suddenly the door behind them exploded and nearly threw the three of them to the ground. Peering through the smoke they saw those terrible, five-foot tall, high-pitched, annoying aliens brandishing their pistols.

"Oh my god, the Ewoks!" Yelled the first tech, and before he could do anything the outsized furry haemorrhoids yelled in their irritatingly high voices and fired their pistols at the cowering crewmen. The tech gave a cry of mild discomfort, as he was drenched in water. The chef, seeing as he was weapon less and needed to be somewhere else, resorted to his most important part of special training. He ran like a girl and left the others to be saturated at the hands of the enemy.

 As the sissy marines complained about their hair whilst fighting water pistol equipped Ewoks and Jackasses wielding their trash can lid shields outside of the bridge, Captain Strap began ordering the evacuation of the Column of Winter. Speaking through the loudspeaker system he arranged the troops so he could easily escape the ship when he needed to. Reports of injuries came flooding in from the various medical centres, terrible reports of sprained pinkies, broken fingernails and parted hair filled his screens. 'Inhuman Bastards!' Thought the Captain.

As the chef ran through the ship, avoiding fights and stealing the crew's private pornography out of their unguarded quarters, he admired his own armour and training. The MOJO armour was actually waterproof, protecting him from the water saturation weapons of the enemy. It also had special, and really cool, x-ray vision (although it isn't noted what effect the x-rays had on the people or thing being viewed however, the company say if you can't prove it they'll have your asses for slander). His special training also gave him an edge in combat. He could fully take on any enemy half his size if he could get the drop on them.

After reaching the bridge with little misadventure (apart from one incident where the chef had to leave a wounded crewmen behind "for the greater good", although no one was quite sure for what greater good) the chef walked up to the main viewscreen, and saluted the Captain with the traditional fist–under-the-arm, a symbol that had been in use for many a pissed off generation.

"Its good to see you again chef." Said the captain, stifling a really smelly fart.

"Miss me?" Said the figure in the holopanel.

"No." Replied the chef bluntly.

"You did miss me then?" She giggled and tried to look as fetching as possible, even going to the length of rubbing her mouth with her hand to remove some of the chocolate. The chef just wanted to be sick.

"Well, chef," began the captain. "I'm afraid we're having to abandon ship. We need to prevent the AI here falling into the Covet-asses hands. I need you to take her down to that giant hula-hoop we found." The chef looked as if the captain had just asked him to run his genitals through a mangle. "What's the matter chef?" Enquired the Captain; "you look as if I've just asked you to run your genitals through a mangle."

"Sir, can't we just destroy her program or something?"

"Yes, it would be easier and safer and a more logical plan, but we wouldn't have a plot otherwise so you got to carry her down." The chef gave the Captain a look, that, if looks could maim, the Cap would have left in three or four black bin liners. "Okay, bend over chef." The chef did so and the Cap inserted Marlene's chip up the poor man's rectum. There was a stifled yell from the bent over warrior before he straightened up with a look of extreme annoyance and pain on his face. "Right then you two, get going."

The chef hobbled away, moving about as fast as any guy could with a ten-centimetre computer cube shoved up their ass. 

After a few minutes of almost comical hobbling by the chef, they reached the life pod deck. They found one remaining lifeboat with a single seat remaining. Suddenly down the hallway charged a bloody marine, blood pouring from numerous scratches and burns all over his body. On his heels were the Covet-ass, dozens of Ewoks shouting benign and utter nonsense in their insanity inducing high pitch squeaks. Standing above them were the mighty Éclairs, giant chocolate-based confectionary with amazing strength and endurance. They roared and fired their own high-powered water rifles at the fleeing human. The nearly dead marine fell into the chef's arms. There was only one thing the mighty human warrior could do. He picked up the marine by the back of his neck and threw him into the encroaching ranks of the Covet-ass. There was a muffled scream drowned out by excited squeaks and the chef jumped into the life pod and shut the door.

"Punch it." He called to the pilot. He headed to the front of the cockpit on the pretext of looking at the giant hula hoop they're were aiming for as the craft left the COW, although he was actually trying to look down the uniform of the fit female lieutenant in the pilot seat. After satisfying himself that the pilot was actually a deranged and highly disturbed transvestite the chef sat back down in his seat and began to whistle various TV theme tunes.


End file.
